


Organized Crime

by 0Locke



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - World War I, Crimes & Criminals, England (Country), F/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:10:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Locke/pseuds/0Locke
Summary: An American and British gang interwove and developed as one prevailing entity. One man—Benjamin Solo—its highly cunning patriarch, had risen to power through his extraneous efforts and ambition for the commercial and illegal world. It wasn't until he came across an agent of law that, through treachery, did a woman secretly undo the vast empire he constructed for himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't watched Peaky Blinders, I swear I might just shoot you square in the head myself. Kidding. But really though. This show was so good I couldn't help but make a gang AU for my Reylo obsession. If it's been done already, I am completely ignorant. This idea sprung out the back of my own mind. Not any other. Enjoy.

**_1919\. Birmingham, England._ **

_War had finally left Europe's doorstep._

_Everyone was in distress. There was no trust. There was no camaraderie. Only blood was to be trusted. Anyone else would be sold down the river._

_Organized crime had never been more rampant. Many of those families consisted of the Italian, Irish, the Romani, the Jews. The list went on. An American family joined the fold, despite the continent seeing its millenniums worth of bloodshed and violence within a span of four years._

_An American and British gang were interwoven and developed as one prevailing entity. One man—Benjamin Solo—its highly cunning patriarch, had risen to power through his extraneous efforts and ambition for the commercial and illegal world._

_It wasn't until he came across an agent of law that, through treachery, did she secretly undo the vast empire he constructed for himself. His world crumbles to nothing._

/

So how did a poor Yank end up in Birmingham? Ben wondered himself.

Benjamin Solo, or Bennie short for those closest to the boss. Bennie was a man who respected those who respected him in return. No hard play. No tricks. No dishonesty. He'd learned to become a man of honor and discipline, integrity, and lawfulness. All in all, a good man.

Bennie was a man of the new world. Was. He wanted to join the naval forces. He'd dream of it and his patriotic heart wouldn't let him imagine otherwise. But he remembered. That instead of an induction, a heavier bearer of news came his way. He'd still been a young lad—nineteen or twenty. Actually, he'd remember coming home and his momma standing there with letter in hand.

She crumpled it tightly on the folds and delivered the news as if she'd practiced hours in advance. He'd remembered it as clearly as the misty mornings of Maine's meadows. He could still see his momma's dewy tears bursting from her brown eyes. It'd been a week before his name day and this was the news he gets? His pops was'n supposed to head up there. Not this early.

No matter how often he replaced his father's name with insults, he couldn't help but remember the few times he did come to visit. He'd bring a bullet and scratch his son's name inside. Ben kept that bullet in the folds of his left handkerchief pocket as a remembrance of some kind. At least, enough to picture the hand that gave it to him.

A grudge was an impeccable motivation factor. Even after all these years—ten to be more precise—he didn't think his drive could be any more potent.

He'd swore to find the man that murdered his father.

Even if it killed him.

"Mister Alvey." Benjamin interwove his fingers beneath his chin and his all-knowing eyes glared up at the poor bloke. He knew Alvey'd been a spy for a neighboring gang. Asking too many questions. Snooping in places he shouldn't. With his caution and meticulous instruction, he'd been able to snuff out the little rodent within a matter of few days. "You're a good man. I know you are."

That man mumbled in his bloody mouth. A tooth or two probably lost outside.

"I'm a good man." The boss smoothly interrupted and his posture ever stagnant and still despite the roaring world outside  this reach of day. "Like good men, we should be able to set aside our differences. You give me something I want and I give you something you want. But first...we should be able to trust eachother. Yeah? You trust me?" 

"Trust you? A Solo?" He spat at the base of his desk, nearly hitting his newly polished Oxford shoes. Probably a tooth somewhere in that wad of bloody spit. "Hell knows I won't trust yous Solos."

"I let you in Mister Alvey. I let you into my home when you hadn't a shilling to your name. Just a beggar on the streets. And if not that, you'd be pickin' daisies in the graveyard. But _now_ I find a snitch." His eyes narrow under the shadow of his peaked cap and his tone reproachful. "I know who you are. Mister Alvey."

"Dohn know. Don't know what yeh talk'n about." His slurr was strangely fierce.

His momentary silence was brief before he began again.

"Adeline… was it? She's a pretty one. Always a smile on her face. Golden Hair. The kind of gold you see in a crown. Green eyes. You know? Of course you know." He paused, his fairly accurate description should be enough motivation. "I've seen her in the factory down by Mulberry. And you know that novel? _Hound of the Baskervilles_?" His mouth was at a constant line. Unemotional. His eyes were piercing his and then the poor bloke dropped his head in defeat. "That's right, Mister Alvey. Philly here brought it up one time. You know he'd count the number of pages it took to lick her finger to the next."

"What's a Yankee got anythin' to do with a crown." The man daringly spited. "You should'a swam back before ya stuck your head where ya shouldn't."

"Now look Mister Alvey." The coarse flat cap embedded dark contouring sockets in his eyes, "I'm a man of word. And when I say word, I can promise by the gravestone of my own mother that she's in that back room right now."

"Addy?"

The caught spy had been sandwiched between strangling arms. Solo's mindless dogs. He tried to tilt his head back at the rustic door. One of the crooks opened the door for him, revealing a tied and unconscious Adeline Alvey laying on one of their plum velvet couches.

"We brought the book too. You know how she loves to read. She's m been here a while. Didn't even realize when you'd been nosin' around. You know that?"

The man lost his shit momentarily and violently jerked at his shoulders. A darker skinned man snuck underneath his convulsing chest and socked him right in the gut. He doubled over and let out a defeated wail, sobbing and letting his face hang low. A mix of sweat and tears dripped onto the wooden floorboard.

"She's got nothing to do with this! Not you… not me…. not the Sloggers. I beg of ya. She's just a woman. She—"

"The Sloggers…"

Ben shook his head at the pathetic attempt from a pitiful family. Honestly, he thought he'd been a stoolie. This was much better.

"Mister Alvey…my job is all about business. My business is all about money. About guns. Liquor even—you know how men like their whiskey. A pretty hefty business." He lit his cigarette with a match and flung the butt through a back window. He held it to his lips and sucked in, letting the smoke settle in his mouth. Then in his lungs. He then exhaled, a white haze dispersed. "But right now, my business is all about _you_."

"Me?" His voice reached the ground, his voice in wary confusion.

"Yes. _You_." He encircled the man and head inclined to the room's wallpaper as if in thought. There was a momentary clench in the sharp shave of his jawline. He pursued to smoke while inserting a question or two in there. About what to tell him. About how to _use_ him. "Now we aren't here to play games. We like a good looking woman. You boys agree?"

They hollered. The man was speechless. He was still leaning over and heaving in pain. And from that beating earlier…it left him bruised, battered, and bleeding like a mutt in the streets. The cracks in the wood were more interesting than what Mister Solo had to say apparently.

"Look at me." The man's face was scrunched by his thin cheekbones and face hauled upward to meet his shadowed face. Ben's hand was a hydraulic press on his face. Crushing. Ready to turn his bones into powder. "If you don't want your woman face down in the dirt then by all means. Lay there like the lazy sod you are. Look at me." A harsh slap brought Alvey back to awareness, pupils dilating as weary eyes widened.

He still remained silent.

"Alright. Wake her up Finn." Benjamin nodded at the mobster and shot Alvey's head back with a fling of his wrist before retracting. Ben's fairly intricate watch had its gold glistening in the sunlight of the room as he repositioned his flat cap.

Finn was just past the door's floor frame before poor Alvey called out in distress.

"No…no wait! Wait!" And if his desperation wasn't apparent before…it was now. "I'll tell you!"


	2. Chapter 2

Momma Solo.

A formidable woman with messy coils of braided hair who often stood at family meetings, judgmental arms crossed at the elbows. She watched her son govern these meetings with such highly distinguished prestige she wondered if he were her child any more. Is this the little Ben that used to write letters to his cousins, aunts and uncles? The little Ben who used to count the birds that would fly cross the sky and hope that by the thousandth one, that his father would finally show up at the doorstep?

_It was his damn fault for dying._

_How could he do this to her?_

She would wonder, day by day in her secluded homely little office, if returning to England would have been such a good idea. It seemed like a good one, back in her little lake home that’d been a little too peaceful to consider the consequences and reality of a warring world. Of a world she barely remembered.

Alas, a widowed wife in a foreign country had nothing, if not family. And should her son walk away now, she would take fate into her own hands.

Formally known by another name. A name more forgotten. Although adopted as Organa, the _Skywalker_ truly came from her side. Its roots were situated in England, spread and vast, never really having a guild to call their own. To be Skywalker meant that you’d be clever. Cunning. Resourceful. They had fair numbers, but even in that, no real power to contend with in the underground. No real say in a world full of Amidala, Kenobi, and those damned Palpatines. The Palpatines controlled everything.

He figured out what his father was a part of in the greater scheme of things. And for that very reason—he’d been murdered. A future like this was meant for him, or so he believed. And he said that if she wasn’t going to be in his life when he does exact his revenge…then so be it.

_Then Leave._

She remembered him say. It was so long ago, even his tone of word was still fine-tuned in her mind. 

Nevertheless… it _molded_ him. He was a changed man. Was he worse? Was he better? She would never know.

And every time Leia glanced upon her son’s beautiful yet weary face, she would see things never once noticed before. The subtle little things like the way his thick brow bones would furrow whenever he would consult to her own advice, the way he concentrated at the consignment papers on his desk, and the way he poised himself before his family with a prideful height and smug look on his face.

Ben was definitely his father’s son.

Leia closed her eyes as she heard the heavy pounding of footsteps from the floorboards of the ceiling. It was probably Ben doing something she didn’t want him to do. She sighed and sat back in her Windsor chair, choosing set aside her daily business for a time when she was more mentally capable. 

///

“Now look.” Benjamin watched as Mister Alvey’s brown strands were tugged back at the roots. The poor guy. All he could do was watch as the enemy surround his beautiful wife with wide, teary eyes. “We didn’t do anything to her. No cuts, bruises. And it’ll stay that way as long as you tell me what bigger plan you’re a part of. Yeah?”

“I told’cha.” His voice was a hushed whisper. It sounded like he was trying to rush the information out of himself in an effort to save his innocent love. But Ben knew there was something else. “It was the Sloggers. They wanna know where you’re keeping the booze.”

 “Go on.”

“That’s all sir. If you want an apology about what I said earlier than sorry. About the whole American thing.” His fidgeting eyes were finally able to center on the tall shadow that was Benjamin Solo. He was a giant intimidation compared to the lesser proportionate room, and certainly when he stood as a wall between him and his wife. “If you want me to give back all the money I stole I will—I will I promise ya.” His sounded like a street beggar. Pathetic.

“Keep the _fucking_ money.” Ben’s voice was a low and rich vibrato. He sounded pleasantly nonchalant and yet his intent indicated otherwise. “I know you’ve been contacting the Coppers. Setting up your own family—the Sloggers don’t know you’ve been sending word to the law that they’re planning to seize our goods. Our goods are illegal. But I’d bet you already know. They’d be arrested for possession and we’d be arrested for attempting to transport the goods to Russia and America. As long you know where it is. You’re quite the turncoat. Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sir I really—“ Mister Alvey shrunk to his knees and he let the tears seize his face uncontrollably. He was a mess, and the Solo wouldn’t take any of it.

“You’re not smart enough to think of a plan like this yourself. I know you’re not.” The men around Benjamin were all but quiet, letting the boss have his spotlight. He continued softly, admiring the underhandedness of the situation. “Now tell me. Who. Is.”

One of the younger looking guys—surely not weaker—strides on over to the drugged woman and glides a knife against her throat.

“Well?” Ben’s sharply contoured face turns aside, the thin stubble a bit less apparent in the dimly secreted room. “Silence brings your wife closer to her death.” He hummed, placing a thumbnail-gloved to the tip of incisors. “So now you decide not to be a rat for once in your life? Is money so important to you? You protecting someone?”

“Sir please…I’m not tryin’ to protect anyone.”

“Certainly not. Looks like we’re going to find out if your woman’s going to heaven or hell. Ezra. Cut in just a little—“

The mobster just about angled his wrist before being shouted at to stop. Alvey slumped to his feet, arm’s still imprisoned by brutish thugs the moment he saw a drip of blood escape the thin membrane of her skin. “Okay. Okay.” He panicked. “It was a woman. A Kenobi. The Kenobis set this all up—they’re in with the Coppers.”

“A woman?” His words at that moment were solely for contemplation. He crouched to head level with the pitiful excuse for a human being and tilted his head. “What woman?”

“The Cock’s all about being in line with the Law ya know? She ain’t the head if ya wondering.”

“She couldn’t be.” Mister Solo reaffirmed in a deep murmur. He made a soft chuckle through his nose, blinking a bit more than usual, and shook his head. His absent brown eyes lingered on the man as if were formulating a plan. “Alvey. Care to strike deal?”

“Deal?”

“Yeah. A deal.” Ben assumed his height and signaled for his men to force the turncoat to follow suit. Alvey was harshly dragged up by the crook of his armpits and left to waver on his wobbly legs. “You know. They were probably going to send you to the slammer once you did the dirty work. Or shot you while you slept. Or stabbed and hung you by the toes until you bled out. Does that sound like a happy ending to you?”

“No sir.”

“Good.” He sternly replied and let a satisfied smile emerge. He was frightened at the prospect of his life being in danger despite the Coppers seemingly siding with him. He was going to manipulate Alvey into doing his own dirty work. “Now when I send you back to whatever Godforsaken hole you crawled out of, I want you to act like nothing changed. You’re still an agent of the Law. Not a very good one I should say but do your best. Be convincing.”

“Now why should I do that?”

“Miser Alvey, surely you’ve thought this over by now? They’ll realize you’ve grassed ‘em. Now this woman who’s giving you orders…who is she?”

“Never gave me a name sir. I would point her out but she always wears them big coats and hats. Always different every time I see her…can’t even tell ya what her hands look like.”

“But you’ve had to have seen her eyes? Know how she sounds like? She’s giving orders and she’s got a voice. You should be able to _point_ her out. Shouldn’t you?”

“Hope she’s a pretty one,” Finn interjected. “She an old hag? A fresh plum?”

“She seemed young sir. First time I heard her think I fell in love. All cute and peachy. Had a hard time taking her seriously and I still followed her orders like a dog. Bet you would too.”

“You should be glad your wife’s not awake.” A curly haired Jaiden interrupted. He was Ben’s cousin. The Skywalker side. Luke’s oldest kid. He snuck in another swift pounding to the stomach, to which Alvey winced and grunted in pain. “Quit draggin’ your feet and tell us where the damned woman is.”

“Can’t tell ya where she is…but I can tell ya she’s got the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” He gasped between the recurrent throbbings of pain. “Brown and green. When she looks at ya…trust me. Ya know when ya see her.”

“I’ll take your word for it Mister Alvey.” Ben’s low voice, guttural and soothing was all he could hear before being socked on the head.

///

An easily fretful woman made large strides in the streets of Birmingham. She was neatly wrapped in a black woolen coat, black gloves, black heels clacking against the graveled roads, and brown hair neatly arranged underneath her broad-brimmed black hat.  

There were too many deaths and one too many loving granddaughters to mourn for them.

She shuddered and made haste to the cemetery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to frantically do research so I don't get anything wrong. If I do, let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

_Four weeks had gone by._

The woman arbitrarily decided on the nearest pub, as soon as the sky had gone awry.

 _Grandfather must have had enough of me today_ , she smiled as she rose to her feet and brushed the dirt from her knees. The world had its difficulties and made her wanting reprieve. It called for a commemorative drink.

 _Millennium Falcon_ engraved on a sign above and its glass too opaque to see anything but blurs of dark shadows moving inside. A blast of loud chatter, drunken singing, and the clinging of glasses filled her ears as she pushed through the double doors.

"How 'bout a pale ale for the young lass?" The barman shined a mug to perfection with a towel and stuffed it inside a pocket fold of his apron. He had lovely almond brown eyes, licked back hair to match in color, and a beautiful smile.

"Whiskey please." She said, plucking at the lower frills of her dress so she could comfortably sit on a bar stool.

"Sure you can handle a man's drink?" He set the rim of the mug face down on a dry rack behind the bar top's ledge.

"I think I'll head somewhere else then." Rey adjusted her brimmed hat and almost had her mind out the door.

Before she could officially make her departure, she'd been cut off. "Let the woman drink." A heavy voice announced from behind. "She'll 'ave one on the house."

Barman rubbed his hands on his apron and turned for the shelves of bottles arranged in fashion. "Aye sir." He plucked a square vessel and simultaneously positioned two small glasses before each occupant. The small swoosh sound lasted for only about two seconds and the alcohol filling only but a small portion in each cup. "Have a seat, Miss."

Reluctantly, the woman nodded.

Both glasses slammed down at the same time. The itchy burning of her throat followed, the heat in her stomach erupted soon after, and then it crawled throughout her body.

She looked aside and he at her. His dusty long overcoat scrunched at the hip and she could see his shining white collar peaking just above the black folds. His face had been shadowed by a russet flavored cap, the peak let the mid-bridge of his nose, surrounding mouth, and angular jaw exposed enough for the woman to immediately recognized who he was. Benjamin Solo.

"I thank you." She announced politely. "But 've got to pay for the drink Mister Solo."

"On the house." He repeated sternly and found sight with the barman once again.

"If you think I'm some kind 'a slag then—"

"Not at all." He disclosed softly and she could barely hear him in the wild storm that this pub was. He tapped the foot of his glass, his signal for a second serving.

They sat in silence for a little bit, then she decided that one drink was satisfyingly enough. The woman gleaned against the leather stool so that her legs could safely reach the ground and her dress still properly fitted and intact. She untied her coin purse and reached for two shillings, not wanting to owe this man any favors.

"Your name." He said after downing another controlled gulp of whiskey. "You tell me your name and we call it a payment. Aye?"

"Rey." She replied softly.

"And the family you hail from Miss Rey?" His voice sounded gritty and she'd assumed it to be the liquor's doing.

"Alvey." She murmured without a hint of deceit in her voice.

He cleared his throat and his eyes remain staring the backboard of the pub. It was decorated with ornaments, mementos, and pictures of family, including those of himself. "Alvey…"

"That's it."

He nodded up slightly and stopped midway. "How old are you?"

"You think I'm too young to drink?" She found her response impulsive.

He continued with a small snort as if he wasn't going to stop her anyway. He swallowed the final wisp of liquor before he made his sly little remark. "Now if I were paying for you to take a little sip, I wouldn't have kicked you out."

"I suppose," She sighed, the smell of a freshly smoked fag inhaled as she took a breath. "'I got a lot going on, Mister Solo."

"Don't we all?" His third was already filled and this time, he waited a few minutes in contemplation before tasting it again. He made it seem like all he ever consumed was alcohol…like he survived on it. From what she could see, Rey saw the rims of his eyes look watered, worn, and pinkish, as if they'd been rubbed recently.

"Why do you ask?" The orange-hued light in the pub lacquered Rey's hazel eyes to a more amber-like color. They glistened as he turned to address her.

"You seem a bit too lively to be a widow. Or is it a parent you lost?"

"Oh…" She glanced down at her clothes. Black was worn to grieve the death of a loved one. "Yes. My father…died."

He tipped in the rim of the sliced glassware and the rest of the portioned whiskey fell in his mouth. He set it upside over to signal he'd been done for the night. The barman had been too busy tending to a few drunken bastards over at the far side of the bar, however.

He really didn't make eye contact with her…only with critical words that needed extra emphasis. He decided to play and mold his hand around the indented ridges of the whiskey glass. "So your father. What did he do?"

"A docker. He was…shot."

"I see." He nodded. She could sense his stare linger a little longer than it should have, his empty glass suspended in a lightly clenched hand, the base of his elbow stitched onto the bar top.

"Thank you." She broke the tension and bowed her head respectably. "T'was a pleasure."

Leaving the stool and the pub's owner behind, she headed for the chilly darkness that engulfed Birmingham.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but I wanted it out there for you guys to read.
> 
> What do you think of my portrayal of Ben so far?


	4. Chapter 4

Rey could see the giant smokestacks in the sky and the looming skyline from the factories from above, there was endless gray, blemished with murky smog. The streets were filled with a foul order that permanently seeped into her clothes by the end of the day.

It’d been sometime mid-October and the frost crept on England far too early for this time of year. One would think such frosty air refreshing, yet all she could taste was the pollution, thanks to the city’s industrial factories. She longed a peaceful city, one not diseased with crime and poverty, but she knew such a fantasy would not possible. Not after the war.

_No gloves._

She’d realized too late as she felt the tips of her fingers grow numb. She rubbed her hands and puffed heated pockets of breath into the small sphere formed by her palms. Thankfully, a pelted trench coat and three woolen scarves would be enough to keep her alive by the end of the day.

As she made way to the station house, she would catch sight of little ones scrunched from shoulders to knees in a pitiful attempt to keep themselves warm. And if not, they were begging and panhandling every capable person they could find. Little beggar boys who hadn’t made enough for their families, no families at all. They were roaming the streets with soot and grime on their faces. Her heart felt heavy, as she wondered of the little girls and what terrible fate had become of them as well.

When she would come across little ones just waiting there at the corner, helpless and waiting for a savior, she would hand out anything she could offer, be it a coin or scrap of food. All three scarves were given to three deserving young ‘ins as she feared hypothermia might claim their lives by next morning. Coldness did not treat her as unfairly to those that were strapped to the streets.

“There you go.” Rey gave a boy, rail thin and bit too scrawny for a boy his height. “Go on. Share it with your family.”

He nodded with beady eyes and raced into the back alleyways of which she assumed he was living. ]

“Remember to meet here tomorrow.” Rey shouted into the back of his head, forming a cone around the shape of her mouth. “I’ll ‘ve plenty more bread to give!” She watched him disappear and veered onwards with droopy eyelids. The sluggish woman decided to make haste to the station, or the chief inspector would have her head.

///

_Where are you?_

Mister Solo watched from the seat of his automobile. He leaned against the crook of his fingers, and in turn, the base of his elbow pushed against the armrest. With a steely gaze, he glared at the station’s entrance through the peaked shadow of his cap and dared not blink as he imagined her coming through.

He readjusted his posture and went for the miniature metallic casket that held his cigarettes. He picked one out, lit the end, and blew with a sultry heave into the hull of his chest.

He was about halfway with a burnt-out roll before he began noting the details of the establishment. It was a solid chalk-white brick building lodged into the endless line of other buildings. Not a breath of space in-between any of them. No windows either. A solitary door and the only person that had come to out was _her_. He imagined her looking side to side as she adjusted her black-brimmed hat and went off into the dirty streets that ran along the buildings.

_What a liar you are._

_Miss Rey Kenobi._

An interrupting knock on the passenger door almost startled Ben. He saw a lanky looking boy looking at him with naïve eyes and a watering mouth. He gave him a signaling nod that it was alright to speak.

“Done what ya asked sir.” His lisp was apparent and words slightly rushed. “She’s been meetin’ with me under the bridge past couple 'adays. S’pose she’s got a big yapper when you ‘syoung as me.”

“Soft spot for the little ones. Eh?” His soft snort barely audible. The end of his fag was burning orange cinders as he inhaled. He puffed out again before asking. “Let’s have it then.”

“Well she goes on givin me bread and talks ‘bout her dead grampy. Doesn’t let me say a damn word—no nothin’.” He folded his arms on the open sill of the passenger window.

“And that’s all she talks about?”

“Yep.” He nodded, pursing his lips. “You know he’s some Kenobi?”

“Already knew that.” His eyes danced on the dashboard of his ‘mobile. He’d already made that connection not too long since their encounter and wondered more. “I don’t pay you to tell me what I already know.”

“Mister Solo I got a big feeling about somethin’.” The kid spoke to the side of Ben’s face, as he’d been staring through the front windshield. His sight found a focal point with a far window ‘cross the town square. “Been following her down to the train stations. Looks like she’s been goin’ places. Far places. Ya know?”

It’s been about a week since their first encounter and he’d been dead set on finding out about this _woman_. He wanted to know if she really was the “mastermind,” as Mister Alvey would say. Could’ve very well been a lie, but he’d know better to trust a man’s words when dire circumstances held the reigns.

He wanted to know if she was the one that could completely ruin him if given the chance.

_If._

But he wasn’t going to give her a chance.

“She comes back with suitcases and I can damn well tell ya’ they look heavy.”

He nodded in contemplation. He held his hand up to his mouth and used the back of his other as support for the suspended elbow. His lips sucked in again and puffed out the smoke.

The boy leaned in through the empty space of where a window would be and turned an ear to him. In a tiny whisper he began, “I’m bein’ honest sir. I think the Coppers are plannin’ somethin’. Somethin big.”

“Are they?” He asked hypothetically.

“Think they’s packin’ the big guns, ya know? Heavy one’s like the gats… can’t tell ya what’s gonna happen. But it’s gonna happen.”

Ben flung the butt of his cig out his driver side window and cleared his throat, straightening his sunken form. “You’ve been a good boy for speaking up.  This, Charlie,” He pressed a shilling between his index and middle finger and held it to his out splayed palms. “This is for doing the right thing. Go on. Keep doin’ your job and I’ll double it up tomorrow. Aye?”

“Aye sir.” He took it with an enthusiastic nod and went off into the crowd of passersby, not to be seen again until the scheduled time.

He resumed surveying the station house with an unsatisfied stare. It’d been a few days and he had yet to see someone that looked like her. He _had_ to see her come through that door. Or walk into it. Whichever came first didn’t really matter. His eyes narrowed and he bit into the skin of mouth.

_Come on._

_Where are you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Or what I could add! Appropriate for the era of course. Thanks guys.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay more dialogue!
> 
> This era intrigues me very much and I want to get this as close to the real thing as possible without actually being there (obviously). If there's anything you know that I could add in to improve, just let me know!
> 
> Enjoy folks.

Rey’s breath came out like white steam on a frigid night, and it’d been just too cool to consider it October weather anymore. Resembled more of an early January, just after Christmas when all the snow had fallen and later sleeked over anything that looked like a surface. 

Evening was steadily approaching and she had yet to reach her lodgings. Yet she couldn’t define it as such. What she lived in now was more of a rented room in an outback Inn, far from intricate trenches of Birmingham. It was more on the outskirts—near what scarce fields and grasslands this industrialized city had to offer.

Maybe she could fare for a horse ride?

Rey developed a trained eye—her job required such a skillset— and she made haste before anyone decided to chat up a conversation. Assume everyone was guilty. No one was innocent unless proven otherwise. And her being associated with the Coppers didn’t do her any good. Being a lone woman wasn’t too helpful either.

She’d been too busy looking ‘cross the streets for a ride home before she could realize she’d bumped straight into someone.

Thud.

_Oomph._

Her heel slid on an icy patch she’d just missed from walking over earlier. With an embarrassed-then-quickly-returning-to-professional look on her face, she gratingly acknowledged him. Glaring him up and down, the first thing she could notice was his peaked cap and the tremendous height from which it compared to the ground.

“Oh.” She murmured.

“Oh.” He repeated in a same voice, obviously surprised at her appearance as well.

Or was he?

His mouth quirked into an almost-smile. And immediately, she stared at his full lips and thought about never seeing Benjamin Solo smile before, at least from the few times she did see him. He bore a famous face and without a doubt she remembered that face appearing on clipboards all over town. Photographed or drawn—it held the portrait of a stoic and a habitually serious man.

Did she have a face competent enough to match his?

“Do what do I owe the pleasure…”

Ben Solo.

Bennie?

Benjamin?

She wondered what his crook of a family called him.

“…Mister Solo?” She straightened the pleats of her coat that folded up just above her chest. “You’ve quite the knack for catching me by surprise.”

“Do I?”

Sounds of faint sobbing and profanity echoed down the streets until it reached their ears. Briefly, they both turned to the source of the sound. Sounded like a couple was having an argument just ‘cross the block. It was short lived and finished off with a loud resounding crash of a door slamming and a man driving off in his mobile.

“Huh...” She turned back to Ben with her eyebrows raised at the random interruption.

He returned to greet her himself with not as a confused of a look on his face. He expected things like this to constantly happen.

“Suppose ‘ve should’ve been prepared for it. Never know what could happen in a city like this, right?”

“Aye.” He reaffirmed more concretely. “All in a day’s work for you. Isn’t it Miss?”

What did that mean?

That remark made all movement in her body freeze for one solitary moment.

“Still lookin’ for a job is all.”

“Ah.” He nodded understandingly.

Something made Rey think he knew more than her words led on.

He looked ‘round the empty tiled streets with several rusty lampposts lighting the way. They looked like miniature orange suns that arranged in an almost perfect line down the city. They curved down the paved hills, maintaining the rising and dipping nature of the city.  “An important meeting of mine ‘s postponed. Not in my tastes to neglect my duties, but I s’ppose it’s a good thing when I haven’t had a night off since…God knows when?”

She nodded, knowing what it’s like to be so busy that you forget about all the important things in life. Her eyes followed the movement of his hands as they snuck inside the roll line of his trench coat, pulling out a pocket-sized metallic casket. _Probably cigarettes,_ she concluded with a sour face. She only smoked when the stress was too over whelming.

Trapping the dusty brown part between his lips, he offered the woman his relief as well.

“Only on occasions.” Her palm made a barrier against it. “Thank you though.”

Nodding, he lit one with a petrol lighter he kept in the same pouch. There was an open clicking sound, hands coned around the ignition end, and his head scrunched inward to it as a sort of habit.

“Can the same be said for you?” He added on with eyes not leaving sight of the fag, sparking more to their conversation. Since his hands were busy, his voice was muffled by the fag sticking out the corner of his mouth.

The smell of tobacco coursed through her with the ignition, she noticed the fumes already billowing off the burning end. “I wish it can Mister Solo.” Her breath was weary, and she turned her head to the nearly deserted Mulberry road. It was strange since usually it’d been swimming with thieves and possibly criminals worse than that. Who knows? Maybe Mister Solo was here to save her? “Should be headin’ home before I find myself without any clothes ‘morrow morning.”

It was dark humor.

He snorted slightly and apparently took that as an unintentional invitation. “’Ave a mobile parked at one of my garages nearby. It’s not too far Miss Alvey.” His jawline was harshly contoured in dawning dusk and the bones of his mouth clenching during rests in his speech. “Would you like a ride back home?”

“’M better off on my own two feet.” Her smile churned up slightly but her eyes held no emotion. “Don’t want to owe you anymore favours, Mister Solo.”

“I am a man of _manners_.” The last of his statement was raised to a higher pitch than what it began with, “can’t leave a woman all ‘lone here.”

“Not really into letting a woman make her own decisions. _Now are you_ Mister Solo?” She refuted politely.

“Call me Ben. Bejamin—doesn’t matter.” He puffed “When you include formalities, I keep thinking you’re trying to buy something from me. Wait a minute—“ He paused with an accusatory smile jumping on his lips. “…You’re not lookin’ to bargain guns, are you?”

It was a harmless joke…

But.

Rey knew that it’d held a second meaning.  She chuckled softly with a ‘AHA you got me!’ Clearing her throat, she began with an alluding response to another one of his statements. “I drink on special occasions Mister Solo.” She had trouble looking into his lingering eyes. The slouching man she saw sitting down at the bar a week ago now appeared generously tall. “Wouldn't count on makin’ that a habit just yet.”

“A bottle a’ wine held all my intentions, Miss.”

“That all then?” Her tone died down and she stepped back when she realized something didn’t quite add up. He worked canal-side of Birmingham, part ‘a town where he could conduct his illegal activity with leisure and efficiency. And they were almost in the countryside. So what was he doing here? Was…was he following her?

“Enjoying my time off is all ‘m doing.” He _assuredly_ reminded her.

“The Falcon’s quite a way’s away from here.” She pointed towards a Protestant church deeper in center of town, alluding to the fact that the pub’s somewhere past that hotspot. Far past it. “Now what’s a Solo doing in the outskirts ah’ Birmingham? You’ve your own office ‘cross town don’t you?”

His pause showed a greater part of his response, be it amazement, be it one of shock, or be it a mixture of both. Not much of an expression though. A lot of his face was obscured by the impeding darkness.

“…There another reason you’re hunting me down?” She glared up and he down at her.

His laugh broke the tension between the two. She had to reimagine that again. He laughed? Him? What a sight. There was another brief pause before Ben answered rather abruptly. “…You caught me.”

He took off his cap and what remained was a nicely slicked back black mane, and shaved more intricately at the sides, yet still covering his ears. It looked pretty nice for being pressed under (which she assumed) a hat every day.

“So how about it then?” He asked conclusively. She felt that this gesture was a way for her to open up to him. It was strange. This guy was a mobster. Why in the world did he think he could belong in her world? Where could he be a part of in her life? He sucked in his cigarette and paused, before puffing out again with a suggestion. “Doesn’t a date sound exciting to you?”

Well…he was trying to find her.

Maybe not for the best of reasons…but not for the worst either.

“Now’s not the best time Mister Solo.”

“Ahh—“ He nodded understandingly at the rejection, finishing his daily dose of relief and ground it on the street with his heel. “Another time then?”

“Another time.” She finished off with a gentle smile. Her heels tapping against the stone-paved road, she made her way back home, leaving him in the dust once again. His eyes were following her movements for as long as he could see her and she had this awful feeling that she would see him soon.

_Another time then._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This chapter's all about history and not-fun stuff. So please bear with me! The fun will begin soon :) Let me know what ya think.

Ben traversed along hidden back roads of his new beloved city of Birmingham, noting how there wasn’t much different between here and the States. Same leaves and caterpillars. Same birds and seeds. Same trees and roots. Of course, this was a world subtly different than the one he used to call home.

Britain in 1909 seemed to be the peak of its expansion, and it appeared to be the most Utopian country to live in—but only up until recent.

Some may have blindly stepped over it and some may have foreseen, but there had been a stunt in Britain’s economic and industrialized growth. Much of workforce had been comprised of the soldiers that died by the thousands. By the hundred thousand. As a matter of fact, about eleven percent of the population had gone to waste following the aftermath of the First World War. With that consequence in mind, there would be without a doubt a decline in country’s output and productivity.

Depression was on the country’s doorstep and inflation was ready to strike at any moment’s notice. The United States was once on its heels, and now, it has surpassed the once great, first industrialized country that had once stormed the world with its systematic advancements.

Despite his upbringings in a more efficient and well-off country, Ben chose to partake in the underhanded side of industry where if one could not make money legally, one must do it illegally. With the introduction of the 18th Amendment, came the _Prohibition,_ and simultaneously, his chance to make an everlasting impression on the world.

The licensure approved by the Prime Minister was merely a forged piece of paper—a faulty signature in a faulty envelope that never made it past 10 Downing Street. He paid the coiner 50 pounds to do his job right and to keep his mouth shut. From which no one should suspect. And if he were to get caught, he indiscreetly had the coiner sign in very small initials just below the printed inscription.

The coiner hadn’t thought twice about the fifteen-pound favor that would be granted for him had he done what he’d asked. So if he were to get caught? The initials would clearly indicate that the _real_ criminal had peddled a forged license by a man who’d never authorized it.

And then he directed his thoughts to something more ingenious—something he’s wonder how it all had ever began. The illegal exportation of alcohol would be masked by a second safety net, an over-handed business of agriculture that would represent one of the many ‘once-failing, but now’…. booming businesses of the common-wealth empire. Barley grain went into the fermentation of beer, so why not reap the benefits of both?

Ben didn’t have many things to thank this war for—this was probably the only thing. And if I weren’t for his old papa dying and moving to a new country, he’d never be as well off as he was now. And he never would have been able to see his mother happy again, at least, after _he_ died.  But here she was, lavishing in fur coats that would exquisitely cover her body from head to toe, and eighteen-karat necklaces crafted entirely of pure gold.

Vengeance was an impeccable driving force to any one’s motivation. Logical or illogical, it was a starting point. But now he had two goals in mind. The first was to weed out the trash and the second—to get his family ahead in life. The second would come close to overpowering the first and because of it, Ben would forget the sole reason why he chose to become a part of the underground and why he would become a part of a country he held no solace to begin with.

Besides, living here ‘ _isn’t so bad anymore,’_ he would often remind himself.

“Some lot you gave me.” Lucas Skywalker scolded his nephew and shortly he followed it with a dusty laugh. The loading docks were but a still black pool underneath the wooden berths. Men were heard chatting and working cohesively amongst one another and in two-man pairs handling every single crate with seventy-five percent efficiency. “Ain’t good for nothin’, but fuckin’ and suckin’ the booze outta these bottles. You should pay ‘em more. Or less—either works just fine.”

“I know these men. I trust ‘em, uncle.” Ben lit his cig with a quick slash of a match, “What good will a good worker do when his mouth’s just a bit bigger than his effort? Eh?”

“Aye.” He turned his back on his crew with a scrutinizing acceptance, and turned to face his audacious young nephew. “We’ve got one last load then we’d be set. The ships ‘rive in Camden Town soon. ‘Bout a week we’ve got. Maybe four days—maybe five before the boats make it there.”

The two conversed quietly as the men around them carried crates toward the boats. “We can’t afford to be caught ‘cause someone decided they wanted a smoke before they got the job done right.”

_Being safe was better than being sorry._

“Let’s have a look then. Shall we?” Lucas tugged his peaked cap toward the mid-bridge of his nose and hushed his voice slightly. He knew what he meant and meant what he said.  There had to be no traces. No mistakes. And no complaints.

A good load of the crates were inspected by its spearhead and all seemed to be in good hands. “Nothing looks too out of shape.” He nodded with confidence, and that his men would do the job right and keep their mouths shut. That was the problem nowadays—if you get ahead in life, there’s always one jealous enough to tear you down from the grounds, in which they helped you build.

The shipments were bolted down and sealed onto little boats that would then be carried off onto the coastline through canals. From there, they would be loaded onto cargo ships and would then be sent off to cross much larger ponds beyond Britain’s coastlines. A good portion of the exports were preferably sent overseas rather than the much closer European countries. The Americas, China, Australia—you name it. Foreign trade—especially if it’d involved smuggling—was a dangerous business. A potential for profit and Benjamin Solo knew best to not let it slip by.

“The finest bottles ‘a Scotch Whiskey. Bound to make even the most miserable a’ men happy again.”

“Well, we can’t be selling milk, eh?” Ben almost had a laugh at his Uncle’s obvious statement, but chose his tone more seriously. “Say all you want about us—but to the right people. Just remember that we’re selling grain. _Grain_. We’re not sellin’ kegs of ale. Not grenadine. Not even Doctor Pepper.” Ben took another puff of his cigarette and demanded his uncle to provide competence. Every single crate they could lay their eyes on—was headed for the States for a _very_ special and important reason and everything must be perfect. “Just one more, Uncle.”

Pointing to one last landed vessel, Luke followed his commands and crouched to where the docks ended into the dark abyss. He pulled a crowbar from his belted tool strap one last time and sunk the metal into its top sealant and leaned the extension backward, away from the water. The top popped off and it revealed harvested sacks of grain piled up on one another and a blasting smell of shaved wood.

And that was the idea.

To the inspector’s eye, all they saw was a simple export of produce and in return, a simple disbursement for a simple man.

One sack was intentionally ripped apart to serve as a cushion between the wood and the bags of export. One bottle would be hidden in every few or so crates. Not all in one—they would cling against would another and promote suspicion.

“Have a look.” Luke’s confident voice was faint as it moved behind his nephew. For a second he thought his uncle was going to push him in the water, as he’d done plenty of times in his younger days.

He raked his hands through grain/wood chipping padding and felt miniscule something’s graze along his leather gloves. Roving his eyes over the mounds of harvest sacks a few times, he caught shiny glimpses of glass and the tip of a cork peeking out. It was just noticeable to a keen man’s eye. He tilted his head aside and noticed a liquid stain on the bottom plate and corners of the crate.

_Great._

“Uncle, this one’s got a broken bottle.” Ben was then inclined, and now straightened to full height so that he loomed over the rocking boat from his heightened platform. “You almost had me fooled.”

“No one’s foolin’ anyone.” Luke concluded firmly. “Who’s gonna see the stain when it’s all dried up?”

“People _will_ notice when there’s nothing but seeds and broken glass inside, Uncle.” Ben assuredly notes his uncle’s mistake and turns his back on Luke. He senses him lower himself to get a good inspection of the mess, despite the darkness and its shaky hold on his sight. “Get this cleaned up. We’ve got good buyers and we can’t sell em’ empty crates.”

It was Ben’s fault for employing half-assed workers, but his uncle’s for not inspecting the work properly. He didn’t pay the old man to sit on his ass.

“Oi!” Uncle Luke whistled at a few empty handed crew-men to come get the faulty shipment. “Hurry it up ya’ daft son’s a bitches, get this one outta here. You can lick whatever you can—“ He paused with his mood lightened a bit. “We can’t let what we have go to waste, aye?”

The two “grain” men laughed with their souls in their voices. Ben watched with hands safely snug in his trouser pockets as they pulled the harvest bags onto a wooden cart and the exposed crate alongside with it.

“Shame we lost a good bottle a’ whiskey…” Luke sighed as if the spilt whiskey represented the death of a loved one. “We’ll hav’t done when the early crows start shittin’ on us in the morn’.” Ben’s darkened amber eyes found sight with Luke’s again as he stood to his full height. His uncle was a good maybe-foot shorter than him. He certainly got his daunting height from Han.

“Good man.”  Ben nodded with a fag clipped between his fingers and the inner of his lips let it rest lightly in-between. He couldn’t resist a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What a time to be alive, Uncle. The day that comes upon on us tomorrow…it’s an important one. More important than your wedding day, eh?” He finished off with an unexpected joke. A sincere one, nonetheless.

“Anything’s more important than me wedding day.”

Ben chuckled at that remark and thought he’d be going to hell soon for doing so. “Aunt Maara’s yelling at ya from above. Can hear her nagging in my ears—“

“Aye Ben.” Uncle Luke confirmed without a doubt. She’d been doing it all his life and she’d continue to haunt him in the afterlife. The two stepped began pacing themselves back to one of the huts situated outside the docks.  “She’d be proud—of who ya’ become.”

“Not too sure me mum could say the same.” Ben softly said with a hint of regret in his voice.

“Well ya’ _mum_ always been a tough one. Could never understand the way she did things. And always a bit smarter than me in just about everything.”

“Was she?”

“Aye. Always got me outta trouble, even though I deserved it. If you think your mum was hard on you—you should’a seen our papa.”

“I would’ve taken the chance anyway.”

“Ah, that’s right… He died a year before you got here.” He paused at his thoughtlessness. “I’m sorry Bennie.”

Ben shrugged. He allowed his eyes to dance along the diminishing skyline, a mixture of deep maroon and midnight blues.

The old tattered man spat into the canal rather spitefully, but not at his sister, but at himself. “I acted with my heart and she acted with her mind. She was right to move to the States to look for a better life for you. Now look what I did? Sucked you in here just to take her efforts and flush ‘em down the drain.” A gritty sigh escaped his chapped lips and his eyes glowered over the water as if the moon glistening its surface reflected another future for his family. “Was a bad choice at the time—but only because I was too stubborn to listen to her. We wouldn’t ‘ve been in this mess.”

“There’s nothing you could have done, Uncle.” He swallowed hard when he realized he could have actually lived a happy childhood that didn’t involve being alone. He knew his Uncle would have been the father figure for all the times _he_ had never been. “I’m here to make a better life for us all.”

There was a silent understanding between the both of them as they stood along the banks of the canals. The wind tasted cool as it tediously blew against their faces, and Ben pressed his cap against his fitted chemise so that he wouldn’t lose it.  

Little did uncle and nephew know that someone had been watching from the shadows.

 

 


End file.
